


Once Bitten and Twice Put Out

by hexthejinx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Marking, Mates, Mating, Mildly Dubious Consent, One True Pack, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Scent Marking, Scenting, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:09:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexthejinx/pseuds/hexthejinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to save Stiles' life, Derek makes him his mate. Saying that Stiles is not pleased with this is a little understatement. Between Derek remaining his usual emotionally constipated self, and Stiles being a stubborn asshole, they both need to learn how to live in these new circumstances. After all, who said having a mate was meant to be easy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by my friend, any remaining mistakes are mine. If somebody is up for beta-ing next chapters, please let me know!
> 
> I love the ambiguous meaning of "put out". ^^  
> Rating and tags may change later, please keep checking them out!

Stiles might have been a clumsy person by nature, not to mention accident prone, but he’d learned quite a lot, since his life started to consist mainly of supernatural and scientifically unexplainable. He knew not to mouth off to easily pissed off witches, not to touch seemingly innocent objects, especially those laying around in abandoned buildings or caves and he knew better than advancing at a strigoi with just a foot long stick in his hands. Most of those things he’d learned the hard way, but well, he wasn’t a person who would not do something just because someone told him so. The point was that after a few years of battling mythical creatures, not necessarily in safe online environment, he was able to stay out of trouble. Mostly.

He really must have been cursed right after birth, like Sleeping Beauty, or maybe just possessed a nasty kind of bad luck, because no matter how hard he tried and how much attention he paid to what he was doing and saying, sooner or later he always ended up in the worst shit, much to the pack’s exasperation. Like it wasn’t enough to be a physically weak human with the most of his social circle consisting of werewolves.

They were investigating the case of people disappearing in unknown circumstances several miles outside of Beacon Hills. Who knew the pack’s territory was so vast? Well, Derek probably did, but since he had an annoying habit of withholding crucial information from everyone until sharing it was inevitable, Stiles was kind of used to snagging little bits of knowledge whenever he could. Still, would that guy ever start to trust them? It wasn’t like they hadn’t proved to be loyal to the alpha countless times by then, duh. 

By the time they reached the clearing, Stiles was out of breath, dragging his feet through the moss and stumbling more then he usually did. Apparently it was only so far they could have driven until the road ended and they had to hike the rest of the way. He had some stamina, partially because of lacrosse and partially because of being often chased by various kinds of monsters, but an hour worth of forcing his way through thick bushes and forest undergrowth left him exhausted. He found some consolation in seeing that Allison and Lydia weren’t much better, looking like they’d just run a couple of coach Finstock’s penalty laps. Of course the werewolves weren’t even so much as flushed, those bastards. 

He slumped heavily against the nearest tree, meaning to slide down to the ground and demand a rest, screw a certain grumpy alpha and his invariable complaining. He wasn’t given a chance. As soon as his back touched the trunk, he heard a crunch and gnarly branches of the tree _moved_ , enveloping his body and pulling him closer. 

“What the...” he started, eyes wide and slightly panicked. The next thing that came out of his mouth was an agonized scream, as thin, cord-like tips of the branches plunged inside his body.

***

“Stiles!” Scott shouted and moved towards his friend, stopped by Derek’s hand gripping at his arm tightly.

“Wait.”

Scott’s head whipped towards the alpha, face already twisted into an ugly snarl, when he caught a sight of Allison, her bow up in the air and an arrow pointed at the tree. 

“Not the wisest choice.”

Scott turned again, following the voice to the opposite edge of the clearing. A woman stood there, or maybe ‘female’ would be a better word, as she certainly wasn’t human. Her hair had a strange, green-brown color and her skin was only a couple of shades lighter. She wore something that vaguely resembled a dress, though the material clearly wasn’t anything man-made and her arms were entwined by vines. She swept them all with a long, steady look and Scott shuddered despite of himself - her eyes lacked whites and instead of pupils there were just thin, vertical yellow lines. He instantly knew what she was. Each of them had a copy of the Argents’ bestiary, thoroughly translated by Lydia, and he had studied it enough to recognize a creature in front of his eyes. A dryad. 

Stiles’ screaming hadn’t ceased and the sound pierced Scott to the core. “Stop it!”, he demanded, barely restraining himself from wolfing out. 

The dryad face seemed to be void of emotions. “The trees are hungry,” she stated calmly. “They need to eat. And you should have thought before entering the tree-folk element.”

Isaac stepped forward, probably meaning to intimidate the dryad, but Derek used his other hand to stop him as well. “We are investigating the cause of several people vanishing in these woods.”

This time, the dryad smirked. “As I have already said, the trees are hungry. Those humans made a similar mistake as you have.”

Suddenly, silence fell around them, as Stiles gave out the last mortifying shriek and slumped in the trees embrace. Scott’s eyes widened in horror. The dryad never stopped smirking. “Do not worry, your friend is still alive. Yet.”

“As for your cause,” she continued, like she hadn’t just assured them that Stiles’ life wouldn’t be a long one. “We need only five...” her eyes swept briefly to the unconscious boy, “no, four more. Then the trees will be satiated and we will not bother the human kind for another decade.”

“Who do you think you are?” Erica bristled, her fists clenching by her sides, anger coming off of her in almost palpable waves. “You can’t just kill people as you please!”

The dryad didn’t seem to be affected by this outburst. “The tree-folk do not abide by human laws.”

The blonde girl was about to say something again, but Derek interrupted her before she could make their situation considerably wrong by offending an otherworldly creature. “Stop the tree, and I will make you an interesting offer.”

It was only then when Scott realized in dismay that the plant continued to make quiet slurping noises the whole time they were exchanging pleasantries with the crazy nymph. 

The dryad’s unsettling eyes shone with curiosity. She spoke a few words in a rustling language and the noises stopped. “I am listening.”

“You won’t let your trees to feed on anymore humans, and you will release the boy.” Derek’s tone was confident, and his eyes didn’t leave the dryad face for a second. “In exchange, we’re going to give you werewolves’ blood.”

The dryad nodded. “I knew you are not humans, you did not feel like them. Not all of you, at least. Your offer is a befitting one, and I can tell you mean no deceit. I accept.”

Scott jerked out his arm from the Derek’s grip and made the alpha look at him. “What do you want to do?”

“Werewolves’ blood is much more nutritious” Derek actually made a face at the word, “than the human one. We can stop all of this and make it out alive. They won’t take much, we will still be able to walk and we’ll heal right away.”

He barely finished talking when Isaac spoke. 

“I volunteer.” There was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, but his voice was strong, his mind obviously made. Boyd just nodded along and came to stand next to him. 

Scott swallowed. He wasn’t eager to experience something as painful as becoming a slurpee for a spooky tree, but that was his best friend’s life at stake. It shouldn’t be worse than anything he had already been through, right? Right. At least he hoped so.

He meant to move and stand next to Isaac and Boyd, when somebody passed him by, jostling his shoulder in the process. “Back off, McCall.”

Scott actually gaped. “Jackson?” Behind him, Lydia let out a sound of protest, before she was immediately shushed by Allison.

The other werewolf shrugged. “Stilinski’s a moron, and honestly, all of this is his fault. But explaining everything to the police, and especially to his father, would be a total pain in the ass and I don’t have time for that. I’m still kicking his ass when he wakes up.”

Two years ago Scott would have been offended by this attitude but since then he’d learned that that cold, snarky demeanor Jackson sported was just a facade, meant to disguise that in reality he cared about his friends and would do everything in his power to save any of the pack’s members. 

“Your display of heroism is seriously touching,” Derek commented wryly, “but has everybody forgotten that _I’m_ the alpha?”

“Yes, you’re the alpha,” Isaac agreed. “And so you have to remain in your best shape, in case something else happens.” 

“It’s always nice to hear out someone optimistic,” Derek grumbled, clearly not pleased with being made just an observer.

“I just want to mention, that while you boys are busy ruffling your feathers, Stiles is obviously running out of time!” Lydia’s voice raised to the end of the sentence, and she looked torn between feeling furious and simply freaking out. 

Scott winced. She had a point. Derek had to think the same way, because he made no other comment, facing the dryad again instead. She didn’t seem to be fazed by their little argument; her expression remained as emotionless as before. With a flick of her hand she pointed the three werewolves to the other trees encircling the clearing. Once they touched their trunks, the same thing happened as with Stiles: the branches moved, pining the men’s bodies in place and their tips pierced their flesh.

Then the screaming followed. Lots of it.

When it was finally over, Scott was sure he would have nightmares for weeks to come.

Derek’s words turned out to be a little too promising. All of the volunteers laid on the ground, curled up on themselves, but they all remained conscious and their wounds were already healing. Erica ran up to check on them and after several seconds she nodded tightly at Derek in confirmation.

The dryad actually smiled on the group, but it was kind of a smile that gives shivers and brings images of homicidal serial killers into one’s mind. “And so our agreement is fulfilled. Do not dwell on tree-folk land longer than you need to.” With that she turned around and vanished in the forest without making a faintest sound. 

As soon as she was gone, Scott rushed to his best friend, who fell to the ground in a loose heap when the blood-sucking tree let him go. His clothes were torn in many places, where the branches dug in, and all Scott could see was blood. Lydia and Allison were already by his side, trying to clog the wounds with gauze from their handy first aid kit they carried around to tend minor cuts and abrasions. Needless to say, they weren’t doing a very good job of it. Stiles was terribly pale, his lips almost blue and whatever heartbeat Scott was able to pick up with his acute hearing, was very faint, stuttering every few seconds.

He knelt down and put his hands on Stiles’ body, in a way Deacon had once shown him, taking a deeper breath when the familiar sensation ran up his arms. Isaac, who already looked better and came to stand next to him, stumbling only a little, shook his head sadly. “It won’t heal him, only take away some of his pain, remember?”

Something flickered across Lydia’s face. Her eyes searched Derek. “There is one thing that can help him. The bite.”

“No!” Scott cried out. Allison looked at him in confusion. “No,” he repeated in a softer tone. “Stiles doesn’t want it. Never has.”

Allison put a calming hand on his elbow. “Even if his life was at stake?”

“I... I don’t... He wouldn’t....” Scott babbled, visibly at loss what to say, torn between staying loyal to his best friend wishes and making sure he would talk to said friend ever again. The decision was a difficult one to make on the spot. 

But Lydia was already shaking her head, exasperated. “Not that bite. The other. He knows what I’m talking about.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the alpha.

“Derek?” Scott prodded gently.

The older man winced, like bringing up the topic was something he would rather not to do. “Mating bite.” The answer was met with several blank stares. He sighed. “When two weres are mated, one can lend the other his healing powers.”

“And when it’s a were and a human?” Scott asked quickly, trying not to feel too hopeful.

“As well.”

A relieved smile blossomed on Scott’s face. So there was a way, they could save Stiles, they could make him well again. A second later, corners of his mouth fell down again. Stiles meant a world to him, but there was also Allison and... He looked around, taking into his pack members. Even Scott knew that mating was a big deal, and was there anyone willing to do it? They were all friends, true, and even more, as they were a pack, and pack bonds were something unique, but was it enough for such a commitment? Before he managed to ask a direct question, Erica knelt on Stiles’ other side, expression determined.

“What do I do?”

“But...” Isaac stared first at her and then at Boyd. 

Erica’s gaze followed to the dark-skinned beta. “Yeah. But this is Stiles, you know? We can’t loose him, not over something like this, not if there’s a way. Boyd understands.” She gave him a sad smile and he responded with the same. “So, how do I...” She trailed off, as Derek’s hand clenched on her shoulder and she was hauled up to her feet.

“I’ll do it.” He pushed the blond girl away and took her place by Stiles’ side. All the pack gaped at him in surprise. Derek scowled. “I’m the alpha. I’m the strongest of you and my healing abilities are the largest. He’s gonna need a lot of that.”

“He’s gonna need a casket if somebody doesn’t do something _right now_!” Lydia exclaimed, still trying to block the blood flow with a bunched up gauze, now thoroughly soaked. She sounded hysterical, but nobody blamed her.

Derek clearly had enough of wasting time, too. He pushed away the collar of Stiles’ t-shirt, already ripped where some branch dug in, and wolfed out, his eyes flashing bright red. He lowered his head, mouth opened, teeth prolonged and sharp. Just a two inches over Stiles’ skin, he hesitated. It was only for a beat, too short for anyone to react and ask what’s wrong. Then the alpha took a deep breath and bit just below the boy’s collarbone. 

Nothing happened. At least, nothing significant. Scott wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but there had to be something, right? A burst of light, gust of wind, Stiles gasping and rising up in a slow motion... Or maybe Scott had seen way too many cheesy fantasy movies. 

Derek raised his head, face still furry as it twisted in several conflicting expressions, one by one. Astonishment, relief, anger and something else Scott couldn’t quite put a finger on. Remorse? He filed that away in his brain to muse upon later. 

The alpha returned to his human shape, his hands staying where they had been placed, on Stiles’ chest. He shook ever so slightly, but for a while it was the only sign indicating that the healing had already begun. It took a few minutes, but gradually, the wounds started to close and the boy’s heart rate picked up almost to the normal level.

“He should be okay to be moved now. But it’s not done yet, I’m sure there’s still a lot of internal damage...” Derek’s voice was level and confident like it usually was, but Scott could sense that he was distressed, even if it didn’t show on the surface.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Let’s get going, I don’t wanna spend a minute more in this freaking place.”

The rest of the pack voiced their agreement and they quickly left the clearing, luckily without any other disturbance. Derek carried Stiles in his arms and the view would be hilarious if not for the circumstances. The werewolf managed to stumble a few times over a root or a lone stone and even if he didn’t actually trip it was obvious that the healing process was draining his strength in considerable amount. They made it back to the cars much quicker than it took them to get to the clearing, mostly because they didn’t have to look around for any signs of supernatural activity or act stealthy. Scott drove the jeep, with Allison on his right side and Derek crammed up in the back with Stiles spread across his lap. The rest of the pack squeezed into Allison’s SUV. 

By the time they reached the Stilinskis’ house, Derek’s eyelids had been dropping from exhaustion, although he had tried to keep himself alert. On the brighter side, Stiles looked much better, his skin no longer sickly pale and his breathing even. The luck was still on their side, as it turned out that Sheriff was not home. It wouldn’t be easy, or pleasant for that matter, to explain why his son is unconscious and bloody, and why there are three other teenage boys wearing bloodstained clothes. Scott fished a key from his pocket and opened the front door, hoping that no neighbor decide to look out of the window at that moment, only to see a very suspicious group of young people cramped on the porch. 

“You have your own key?” Isaac asked, incredulous.

“Stiles has one to my house since the freshman year, so I decided, why shouldn’t I have one to his?”

“Does Sheriff know about it?”

“Not to my knowledge. But my mom wasn’t surprised at all when she found out about Stiles’ key.”

Isaac just shook his head. “Sometimes I still don’t get you two.” Scott just grinned at him. 

The pack stayed downstairs, occupying either kitchen or the living room, while Scott lead Derek upstairs, straight to Stiles’ bedroom. 

The alpha blinked tiredly at his surroundings. “Not much has changed. The manga dude vanished and the carpet is different, but besides that...”

Scott’s eyes goggled comically. “You’ve been here before?”

Derek winced. It seemed like he didn’t mean to say it aloud. Apparently the fatigue was making him less guarded and withdrawn. “Yeah, once. A long time ago.”

Scott wanted to ask more, but he let it go. “Put him on the bed. Now we just have to wait until he wakes up, right?”

Derek nodded as he placed Stiles’ body on the comforter. He slouched next to him, not even bothering to take off his shoes or jacket. “I need to sleep too, just for a while.”

“Yeah, dude, sure, whatever you need. Just crash there. I’ll watch over the pack.”

The alpha opened his mouth like he was about to protest, but then apparently decided against it and laid down, falling asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

Scott paused only to take off Stiles’ sneakers and tiptoed back to the living room.

***

Stiles woke up with difficulty, feeling groggy, his eyelids unpleasantly heavy as he tried to pry his eyes open. He felt like he was waking up after a party, one during which he had let himself drink way too much and he was just expecting a hangover to kick in. So far there was no headache, but he was thirsty and he felt kind of stiff.

It was a relief when after finally opening his eyes he saw his own ceiling, slightly stained and blessedly familiar. It wasn’t often for him to wake up in a strange place, but it had happened a couple of times by now and it was never a particularly nice experience.

He rolled over, intending to steal a little more sleep before getting up and putting himself in some order, only to be greeted with a shaggy dark head, resting on the pillow inches from his face. He gave out a loud squeak and tried to put some distance between himself and the other person, almost ending up on the floor in the process. There was for sure a lot of flailing. His violent reactions caused the person - the man - in the bed to stir and roll over. Stiles gaped at the sight of Derek’s sleepy face. Okay, what had he _done _last night to wake up in the bed with Derek freaking Hale of all people? At least they both had their clothes on, thank God. His eyes flicked to the window and he saw that the sun was in fact setting down, not rising up. What the hell was going on?__

__Before he managed to ask any questions - which with no doubt would be very humiliating to ask - Scott burst into the room, practically radiating with joy._ _

__“Dude! You’re awake!” He scooped Stiles into a tight hug, causing his friend to groan. “Shit, sorry. How are you feeling?”_ _

__“Good, I think. Except, what is _he_ doing here? In _my_ bed?” He pointed his finger at Derek, who was now sitting up, wide awake, looking grumpy as always._ _

__“Um, resting?”_ _

__Stiles looked at Scott like he randomly sprouted an extra limb. Scott scratched his head, uncertain. “You don’t remember?”_ _

__“Remember what?”_ _

__“Well, all of this? The woods, our searching, the... trees?”_ _

__At the mention of trees Stiles had a sudden flashback, of dead leaves littering the ground, long, willowy branches, and most of all, searing pain. It all came back to him, in too well-defined details. Something had to show up on his face, because Scott’s mouth twisted in worry. He swept his eyes down his body, noticing the torn and blood-stained clothes for the first time. He yanked up his shirt, exposing his stomach, but to his astonishment there wasn’t a single wound to be seen._ _

__“How...”, he started, unsure how even to phrase the question._ _

__Scott grinned widely. “Why, my friend, of course that we saved you. But,” he added, expression sobering, “it’s mostly because of Derek that you’re here, you know... alive.”_ _

__Stiles felt a stab of guilt in his chest. Way to show his gratitude, by acting bitchy just because the person who saved him decided to curl up in his bed. “Um... thanks?” he mumbled, hating himself for making it sound like a question._ _

__But Derek was already standing up, not even looking at him. “You should clean up. And eat something.” With that, he was gone, light creaking of the steps indicating he went downstairs. Stiles barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Of course. Always cranky, always insufferable. Uggh._ _

__“Yeah, dude, he’s right. Come to the kitchen when you’re ready, I’ll make you something to eat.” Scott was almost out of the room when he turned back and hugged him once more. “Really glad that you’re alright.” Stiles returned the hug awkwardly, not used to his friend being so affectionate. The werewolf let go and fled the room, leaving the other boy alone._ _

__Stiles just shook his head and get up to find some clean clothes._ _

__

____

***

“So...” Scott drawled out, making sandwiches from whatever was left in the fridge after it had been raided by a small pack of werewolves and their human associates. “You know you have to tell him, right?” Derek just nodded. “But, like, soon. It’s a big deal, you’re mates now.” The alpha glared at him over the rim of the coffee mug Isaac had given him a few minutes ago. “Oh, come on!”

“What’s the problem?” Erica stuck her head to the kitchen.

“Derek is being difficult,” Scott complained, ignoring metaphorical daggers being send in his direction. “He seems to think that he can keep Stiles in the dark forever.”

“Yeah, right,” Erica snorted and patted Derek’s shoulder in patronizing manner. “Apart from the fact that it’s not possible to keep the mate bond a secret, especially from one’s _mate_ , Jeez, nothing can be hidden from Stiles for long, you should know it by now.” She grinned wider at Derek’s pained expression. “Don’t worry, you’ll figure something out.”

Scott put the bread on a plate and both him and Erica ignored a mumbled comment about bratty, unsubordinated betas.

***

Stiles regarded his body closely while taking a shower and was surprised to find out that he got away with nothing more than several bruises here and there, already looking like they were a couple of days old. Whatever Derek had done, it’d had to work amazingly well, considering the initial damage. And yes, he wasn’t sure what the initial damage was exactly, but it’d had to be quite serious. He was about to find out soon enough anyway.

Once clean and wearing fresh clothes, he made his way downstairs. He was greeted enthusiastically by all his fellow pack members, more hugs and back slaps directed at him. He felt a bit self-conscious with all the attention and apparent delight of his friends that he was up and around. Usually he felt almost invisible, unless they needed him to figure something out, or when he acted particularly obnoxious. The change was something new, but certainly not unwelcome. Jackson didn’t hug him, thank God, but he punched his arm in a friendly manner and didn’t utter any sarcastic comment, which was kind of big gesture from him. Also, Stiles got his arms full of Erica and Lydia _at the same time_ , and yeah, life was great. 

It got even better when Scott thrust a plate full of sandwiches at him. God, he didn’t remember the last time he was so _hungry_. He took the plate with him and plopped happily on the couch in the living room, mouth already stuffed with too big chunk of bread. Isaac made a move like he wanted to sit next to him, then suddenly backed off and took one of the armchairs. Stiles noticed a somewhat apprehensive glance he shot in Derek’s direction, and Derek just settled next to him, eyes trained on the mug he was clutching in his hands. Huh, weird.

Also, “Is that coffee?” Without waiting for an answer, he snatched the mug from Derek’s grip and took a sip, enjoying the bitter taste on his tongue. Oh yeah, just what he needed. Then it occurred to him that it probably wasn’t a wise move to steal beverage from a moody werewolf, prey guarding instincts and all. He quickly returned the mug, along with an apologetic smile. To his surprise, Derek didn’t threaten him with any limb tearing or maiming, didn’t even glare at him or look particularly annoyed. He simply accepted the coffee back and curled slightly into himself, looking extremely uncomfortable. That was even weirder. Was it a The Alpha Behaving Decently Towards His Pack day he knew nothing about?

Well, important matters first. “So, anybody going to fill me in what happened when I was indisposed?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “That’s a nice term for a near-death experience.”

“Near-death? I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. I certainly don’t feel like someone who almost died.”

Apparently it had been that bad. Once the pack was seated around the living room, they recalled the events for him, taking turns in telling parts of the story. Stiles huffed when he learned about the dryad - why he was never there when interesting things happened? - but Scott assured him he didn’t miss out much.

“I still get chills when I think about her eyes, creepiest thing ever,” he said from his place on the other couch, arm looped loosely around Allison’s shoulders.

Stiles couldn’t help himself. “Hey Jackson, look, somebody stole your title from your fabulous lizard performance. Please don’t cry, we’ve had enough drama for one day.” He snorted when a cushion hit his head. Next to him Derek tensed even more. What was going on with the sourwolf today?

“Boys,” Lydia admonished, rolling her eyes. Stiles put the cushion on the floor, despite the immediate urge to throw it back. 

The part when his pack mates spontaneously offered themselves to the trees so the dryad agree to spare his life, made him feel awkward. He didn’t know how he was suppose to react, what was the appropriate thing to say. He felt simultaneously grateful and overwhelmed, lost both for words and actions, which wasn’t like him at all. Isaac, always the most perceptive of them all sensed his unease and put him out of his misery. 

“We’re pack, Stiles. That’s what we do, we help each other, in all ways possible.” 

Stiles just nodded, feeling the smile tugging at corners of his mouth.

“And then Derek...” Scott began, but his was interrupted by the alpha.

“And then I helped to heal you, and we brought you home. The rest you know.”

Scott glared at Derek who glared right back, neither of them averting their eyes. Erica let out a ‘why do I even put up with you’ sigh. Stiles looked between them all, confused.

“Seriously guys, you’re acting so strange today, what the hell is up with you?” he asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. The scowling match continued, while the rest of the pack just looked at each other, none of them providing any answer. 

“Fine!” he bristled, this time truly irritated. “Keep your secrets all you want, but I have one more question.” With that, he pulled away the collar of his t-shirt, revealing a round, angry red bite mark right under his left collarbone, almost the size of his fist, punctuated with four dots at the edges, where the canines would go. “What, for fuck’s sake, is _that_?”


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles was pissed. There wasn’t a better word that could describe his state at that moment. He was absolutely, totally _pissed._

“You did _what_?” he asked, his voice unusually cold and contained. The indignation was visible in his body language, his back stiff and his fist slowly clenching in his lap.

Derek, who was now turned towards him on the couch, folded his arms over his chest defensively. “You heard me for the first time, Stiles. Loud and clear.”

“Yes, I’ve heard what you said. I’m just having trouble processing the words. Because, what the fuck?” He was shouting now, his voice raised a couple octaves.

“Stiles...” Scott made a move to grasp at his shoulder, but Stiles slapped his hand away.

“Don’t ‘Stiles’ me!” He almost flinched at the hurt look that crossed his best friend’s face. Almost. “You are to blame for this the same as him,” he jabbed his finger in Derek’s direction. “You all are.” The pack was just staring at him dumbfounded. Stiles opted for ignoring them, as he turned back to the alpha.

“So what, now we are werewolf-married?”

“We’re not _married_ , Stiles, for God’s sake,” Derek huffed, rolling his eyes, and yes, that was the familiar Derek, the one that Stiles recognized and knew how to deal with. Sort of. “We’re... mates,” he said, choking the word out, like he had trouble bringing it out. “That has nothing to do with any kind of human-derived union.”

“Then tell me, what does it mean!”

Derek glanced at him, then at the floor, then back at Stiles. He kept his eyes on the teen, but didn’t deliver any kind of information, exhaustive or otherwise.

Stiles threw his hands up in the air. “Unbelievable! Okay, you know what?” he added, standing up. “Out.”

Scott blinked at him. “But...”

“I mean it. Leave my house. All of you. I’m done putting up with your stupid faces.” With that, he stormed out of the room, heading straight upstairs.

The pack exchanged looks, expressions varying from incredulous to completely flabbergasted. Derek seemed to be as annoyed as Stiles, if not more, though he handled it way better. He stood up and left without a word. After slight hesitation, Isaac followed, exchanging looks with Scott as he passed him by.

Scott stayed behind, Allison at his side, as they watched the pack fill out slowly. Jackson paused by the door. “That’s what we get for saving that stupid jerk’s life,” he snarled. Scott tensed and almost made a move for Jackson. Mean or not, Stiles was his best friend and nobody was allowed to speak that way about him in Scott’s presence, especially not douchebag former lizards. He felt Allison’s hand gripping slightly at his elbow, his anger momentarily subsiding. He took a deep breath and let Jackson to get away with only a heavy glare directed at him. 

“I should probably go and check up on him”, he said, when they were left alone.

Allison shook her head. “I think it’s better to leave Stiles alone now.”

“He’s hurt!” Scott protested. “I mean, not literally, but... He’s upset, and he’s not himself.”

“Yes. And this is exactly why you better not approach him now. Give him some space, let him think over stuff.”

“Allison...” Scott’s shoulders slumped as he looked at his girlfriend. “He blames me. What if he’s... right?” The look on his face was so vulnerable that it made Allison wince in sympathy and envelop Scott in a tight hug.

“He doesn’t blame you, not really. That was his anger talking, not what he really thinks.” She pulled away, put her hands on Scott’s cheeks and locked their eyes together. “You know we did a right thing there, don’t you? We did what had to be done, we saved his life and that’s the only thing that matters. He’ll come around, and we’re all gonna be there for him when he does.” 

Scott swallowed before nodding tightly. Then he kissed Allison right in the middle of Stilinskis’ living room, because having been proved once again that he had the best girlfriend in the whole world, there was not much else he could do.

***

Despite his foul mood, Stiles fell asleep pretty quickly that night, almost as soon as he collapsed on the bed, after he was done with pacing around his room, kicking furniture and cursing under his breath. He woke up late the next day, feeling even worse than the previous evening. His muscles hurt, he had a headache and he felt even more jittery than usual, which only added to his discomfort. He thought that a quick shower would at least ease tension in his body, but he was mistaken. What irked him even more was that the mark was still there, red punctures in stark contrast against his fair skin. He had kind of hoped that maybe it’d disappear and that all of this would turn out to be just a bad dream. As it was, the day was not looking up. Sighing, he put on some clothes and padded downstairs slowly.

Sheriff was sitting at the kitchen table, browsing idly through a newspaper. He took one long look at Stiles’ jaded appearance and raised an eyebrow.

“I can see it was one hell of a party.”

Stiles rubbed his palm against his face. “What party, dad?”

“Apparently there was one while I was at work. Well, at least you cleaned up and nothing’s broken.”

Stiles gave his dad a blank look. Sheriff sighed.

“Son. I don’t approve of your underage drinking, but you’re already eighteen, so I’m cutting you some slack if it’s not excessive. But I won’t have you trying to lie to me, especially when the evidence is staring straight in my face, literally. Don’t think I don’t know how a hangover looks like.”

“Jeez, dad,” Stiles groaned. “I had some friends over, but there was no alcohol, and no party at all, we were just hanging out.” His father looked doubtful, so he proceeded to explain. “I don’t feel so great, true, but it’s not from drinking. I think I might be coming down with a flu, or something.”

Sheriff’s expression changed to worry and he extended his hand, touching Stiles’ forehead. 

“You’re not feverish...” He moved his hand to cradle his son’s cheek briefly. “But perhaps it’d be better for you to stay home today. I’ll give you some medicine.”

Stiles nodded. “I don’t feel like going anywhere anyway. I’m going to be in my room.” He took a step towards the hallway.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not really?”

“Wow. Guess you’re really sick, then.” 

“Thanks, dad,” Stiles rolled his eyes. He was about to leave the kitchen when his father stopped him.

“Oh, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you have some friends besides Scott,” Sheriff raised his hand to hush protests already forming on Stiles’ lips, “and they are welcomed to our house, but for God’s sake, at least let me know when they empty our fridge. I came home this morning and the only edible food was lettuce and a bottle of ketchup.”

“Well, dad, green vegetables are good for you-” He ducked with a snort when his dad threw the newspaper at him.

“Don’t start with me, Stiles.” His dad attempted at a serious tone, but his eyes gave away his lenient attitude to the matter. “New rule: want to feed your friends, do groceries at your own expense.”

“Okay, okay. Going upstairs now, before you decide to switch to heavier weapons.”

Stupid werewolves with their stupid appetite and lack of respect for other people fridges.

He retreated to his bedroom and turned on his laptop, intent on looking up some information on werewolf mating, since the pack, and especially one obtuse alpha, refused to provide any. As skilled as he was at researching, this one proved to be virtually undoable, much to his frustration. All Stiles found was either connected to actual wolves or a pure fiction, and what he needed were dry facts. After two hours of hitting dead end repeatedly, he slammed his laptop closed and rolled back from the desk in his chair. He picked up his cell from the bedside table where he had left it yesterday, after turning on the silent mode. He had three missed calls from Scott and several text messages, most of them likewise from Scott, but also from Erica, Lydia and Isaac. They differed in tone and word choice, but they all could be summarized by ‘are you okay?’. He ignored them all.

His state didn’t improve throughout the day and after failing at the research he really didn’t have any reason to stay up. He crawled under the covers but this time sleep avoided him for a long time.

***

The next morning didn’t bring any improvement. Stiles seriously considered staying in his bed for the whole day, but he discarded the idea quickly. It was Monday and there was an Economics test to pass. While Stiles had good grades and he could probably afford missing a day or two at school, he preferred not to. It was his senior year and while Stiles still hadn’t made up his mind on his college education, he wanted to keep his GPA intact, in case he decided to go somewhere fancy. His physical state left much to be desired, true, but he was good enough at the subject to do well even with a massive headache. And anyway, he could always made something up if the test turned out to be too difficult. Although he still wasn’t sure if Finstock forgave him that circumcision elaboration from sophomore year. Oh, well.

He briefly thought about having something for breakfast, but his stomach churned at the mere mention of food. Yesterday he managed to force in a few spoons of mushy cereal but that was about it. Stiles hoped that whatever virus he had caught it would pass quickly as he simply had to eat. Not to mention he would really appreciate not feeling like a roadkill. He opted for swallowing down some painkillers instead, willing them to stay put on his empty stomach.

Stiles pulled into school’s parking lot five minutes before the bell. He jumped out of the jeep in haste, not wanting to be late to his first class on top of everything. When he locked the door and turned around, there was someone standing right beside him.

“Whoa!” Stiles literally jumped up in the air, flailing his arms around. “Stop creeping up on me like that, okay? I could’ve had a heart attack!”

“That’s unlikely,” Derek stated dryly. 

“It’s _totally_ likely, don’t make me do research and print out dozens pages of statistics, you know I’d do this. And anyway, what do you want?” He took a closer look at Derek. The alpha didn’t seemed so well either, dark circles under his eyes giving away that he hadn’t gotten much sleep. 

“We need to talk.”

“Like hell we need! Pity you weren’t so talkative the day before yesterday,” Stiles drawled.

Derek sighed. “Stiles.” He made a move as to touch the other guy, his hand stopping uncertainly inches from Stiles’ forearm. 

Stiles used this moment of hesitation to scoot from under the alpha’s reach. “Don’t.” Something flashed across Derek’s face. If he hadn’t know any better, Stiles would classify that expression as hurt, but since when Derek is hurt by anything he’s doing? Annoyed, exasperated, irritated, in rare cases quietly amused - yes, but actually wounded in any way? Nope, not possible. “Gotta go to the class. Come back when you learn to use your words, Jeez.” With that, Stiles rounded his jeep and walked briskly towards the school’s entrance, leaving Derek alone in the parking lot.

***

It was physically impossible to be mad at Scott for more than a day or two, at least in Stiles’ case. The dude just had something about him. Maybe it was the way he grinned widely upon seeing his best friend, or the way he hugged Stiles close despite them standing in the middle of the crowded corridor, but Stiles’ anger dissipated in the matter of seconds.

“Man, you don’t look well,” Scott said after he let go of Stiles and gave him the once-over.

“Good you tell me Scotty, I didn’t know,” Stiles rolled his eyes. He followed Scott to the classroom, where Isaac was already sitting at his desk. The way the werewolf glanced at him, apprehensive and unsure, made Stiles feel very shitty about his earlier outburst. These people were his friends, who always wanted the best for him, the same way he wanted the best for them. He shouldn’t have forgot it. He sat down in the other row, in line with Isaac, and smiled at him to let him know everything was okay between them. Isaac relaxed visibly, his whole posture slumping in his seat as he returned the smile, bright and wide as always. 

The teacher walked in, starting the lesson right off and talking way too loudly. Stiles didn’t even bother to take out his text book. Instead he leaned forward in his seat, putting his head on the desk and groaned. 

“Seriously, dude,” Scott shook his head at him from his place in front of Isaac. “Maybe you should just go home. I’m sure the nurse will let you.”

“It’s just a headache.”

Scott threw a quick glance around the room. When he confirmed that nobody was taking notice of their trio, he reached out and grasped Stiles’ wrist. His veins darkened and he let out a shaky breath. “Wow, it’s one hell of a headache.”

Stiles blinked as the pain and general grogginess he’d been feeling for the past day subsided noticeably. “Oh my God, I totally forgot about your werewolf mojo. This is awesome.”

The teacher cleared her throat, looking at them pointedly, so they turned their attention back to the class. 

For the whole day Scott and Isaac took turns in relieving their friend’s pain. It was probably the only reason Stiles not only managed to write that damn Economics test, but also made it to the lunch break. A couple of minutes after they sat at their usual table in the cafeteria, they were joined by the rest of the pack. It was weird to recall that two years ago it was only Scott and Stiles at a small table and now they had to squeeze up at the two conjoined tables so all of them could eat together. 

Lydia and Boyd didn’t react in any way to Stiles’ presence, acting like they always did, but Erica didn’t shy away from punching him in the arm with enough force to jostle his lunch tray. He didn’t protest, as he knew he certainly deserved it. Allison just gave him a warm smile, making Stiles feeling even worse about the other night than he already did. She could send a person on a guilt trip even better than Isaac, which said something. Jackson kept glaring at him across the table until Lydia elbowed him in the ribs which resulted in him stopping scowling but not loosing his frown. Which was practically the default expression with which Jackson looked at Stiles, so yeah. Everything was back to normal.

Except for his fabulous state of health, of course. How could he forget. On the brighter side, werewolf magic had calmed down his rebelling stomach to the point he decided he could hold down an apple, yet nothing more substantial. 

“You know, Derek hasn’t been in the best shape as well,” Erica chimed in, upon seeing Isaac performing the pain-sucking again. “Me and Boyd visited him yesterday and he was absolutely insufferable.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Which is so different from his usual behavior.”

“No, but really,” Isaac spoke up from where he was perched awkwardly at the corner of the table. “Usually he’s not the worst person to live with, once he relaxes and lets go of his alphaness.” Stiles looked at him curiously. Wow, so Derek actually did that? He always assumed that the alpha glowered and grunted at Isaac all the time, and the boy only endured it because, well, he _knew_ worse. “But since that whole dryad thing he’s been like a caged animal, no pun intended. I actually spent most of Sunday outside of the loft, not wanting to set him off.”

Stiles patted Isaac’s back in consolation, then blanched. “Oh my God. What if Derek passed some werewolf cooties on me, and that’s why I’m sick?”

“There’s no such thing as werewolf cooties, I resent it,” Scott huffed, sounding indignant. 

“Well, he had to do _something_ , right? I doubt it’s a coincidence.”

“He did. He gave you the mating bite,” Lydia pointed out reasonably.

“Jesus, don’t remind me,” Stiles dragged a hand down his face, feeling exhausted with the whole situation. “So, anybody has an idea about what’s happening?”

“Maybe your body is rejecting the bite. You know, like Jackson’s,” Allison suggested. 

“Oh my God! I’m becoming a homicidal lizard?!” Couple of people turned towards their group, giving them odd looks. Oops, he shouldn’t have raised his voice. Except, “Crap, I don’t want to be a kanima! Guys, we gotta do someth-”

“Shut up, you idiot.” Jackson seemed to be forcefully restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “Do you have nose bleeds? Black blood oozing from anywhere? Hallucinations?” Stiles slowly shook his head. “Then you’re not becoming anything, maybe except for a bigger tool than you already are. Oww! What, it’s true!” He rubbed his ear, which Lydia just flicked with her finger. 

“He still may be rejecting the bite and turning into something, just not a kanima. It was a different bite, so the eventual consequences may be different too,” Boyd observed, always a sunshine. 

“Thank you Boyd, I knew you’re my true friend.” Stiles groaned and lay his head on his folded arms. Boyd remained unfazed. 

“Do we know anything about the mating bite at all?” Allison asked. “I already browsed through my father’s books, but there’s absolutely nothing on the topic there.”

“Lydia?” Erica prompted. “You’re the one who suggested the whole thing in the first place.”

Stiles immediately straightened up. “Lyds! You’re the cause for my misery?”

“I tried to come up with anything that could save your ass from bleeding out in the middle of the forest, under immense pressure, I’d like to add, and you should be forever grateful. I won’t be hearing anymore of your complaining.” She jabbed her finger threateningly at Stiles’ face and he closed his mouth immediately. If there was something worse than being mated to the anti-social alpha, it was antagonizing Lydia Martin. Stiles knew better than that. 

“And no,” she continued, throwing back her hair with a flick of her head. “The only thing I know is that a werewolf may lend his or her mate their healing powers and that’s why I mentioned it at that time.”

“I tried to look something up on the Internet,” Stiles sighed. “No success. It’s the first time that glorious invention of the mankind let me down and I feel seriously betrayed.”

“Maybe that knowledge is something that werewolves pass on from one to another, a lore of a kind,” Erica mused. 

Isaac brightened. “Good thing we know a born werewolf, then.” 

“Bad thing he acts like information sharing is the worst affliction ever.” Stiles put his head in his arms again, feeling defeated.

“There’s another person that may know a thing or two. I’ll call Deaton.” Scott pulled out his phone and walked out of the cafeteria to get a better reception.

“Who’s just as eager to share,” Stiles mumbled into the crook of his elbow. Erica snorted, but stroked his hair at the same time, so he didn’t feel too offended. 

Scott caught up with them as they were leaving the cafeteria and heading for their respective classes. “Deaton says to come to the clinic. We’re going right after school,” he said, putting on his ‘Scott McCall is gravely serious and won’t take a no for an answer’ face, which wasn’t very effective, but it wasn’t like Stiles had any better idea, so he just nodded in agreement.

***

In the end all of them rode to the clinic: Allison and Scott on his motorbike, Lydia and Isaac with Jackson, Boyd and Erica with Stiles in his jeep. He didn’t have an idea why they insisted so strongly on coming there with him, maybe besides wanting to witness his inevitable embarrassment from having to explain everything to the doctor, as well as upon hearing the diagnosis. Stiles had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it, whatever the answer might be. But deep inside, he was secretly glad that the pack was going to be there, to make it more bearable.

While talking to Scott, Deaton had instructed them to stop relieving Stiles’ pain, as he needed the full picture so his judgment wouldn’t be compromised. Stiles hated the guy already. After a half a day of feeling more or less normal, he was back to that ‘everything hurts, please make it stop’ phase he experienced for the whole previous day. If he was to be completely honest he’d say it was even worse, like maybe after being suppressed for several hours the ache kicked in with doubled force. He was glad when they finally pulled up in the front of the clinic. It was getting harder to stay concentrated on the road, and the last thing he wanted was to cause a traffic accident. 

He walked into the clinic, past the reception counter and stopped in his tracks, causing Scott to bump into him. 

“What is _he_ doing here?” he asked, the all-too-familiar frustration stirring up in his gut again.

“I texted him,” Erica answered.

Stiles pivoted, meaning to rant at the girl about friendship, trust and _freaking personal matters, okay Erica?_ , and her obvious disrespect for all the three, but he was interrupted by Deaton.

“Good afternoon to you as well, mister Stilinski. Don’t scold your friend; she actually made a good decision to involve mister Hale. I’m going to need both of you present, most likely.”

Stiles folded his arms on his chest and sulked a little, not caring that he probably looked very childish at that moment. He glared at Derek, who was leaning against the opposite wall in exactly the same position, and the alpha frowned right back at him. 

“Now, let’s go back to the business. Can I see the mark?” Deaton sounded far too excited by the whole thing, which certainly didn’t improve Stiles’ mood. He shrugged his shirt off and hooked a finger in his t-shirt collar, pulling it down to expose the bite. He felt weirdly self-conscious about uncovering it, like it was something very private, meant only to be shown to a handful of very special people. His cheeks colored red, only adding to his embarrassment. 

“Does it hurt?” Deaton asked. To his credit, he didn’t try to touch the mark or poke it with any of his instruments; he just kept looking at it. Stiles shook his head. The veterinarian nodded like it explained a lot, and maybe it did, although he obviously didn’t feel the need to elaborate on the topic. He took a step back and sighed loudly.

“I’d appreciate, mister Hale, if you took a seat. I can’t concentrate with you hovering over my shoulder.”

Derek flushed, mumbling something that sounded like an apology, and slumped heavily on a small bench by the wall. He really looked worn out, resting his head against the brickwork and blinking owlishly at the room. Despite himself, Stiles felt a pang of pity as he watched the alpha. 

Deaton proceeded to asking various questions about Stiles’ health and his frame of mind. Luckily none of them were too intrusive so he didn’t feel uncomfortable answering them in front of the pack. As soon as the doctor seemed to be finished with the examination, Stiles voiced the thought that had been tormenting him since the lunch break. “So, what’s wrong with me? Is my body rejecting the bite?”

“No. In fact, I believe it’s the contrary.”

Before Stiles got a chance to ask what exactly Deaton meant by this, the doctor pushed at his chest, making him stagger towards the bench and almost end up in Derek’s lap.

“Hey! What the...”

Deaton hushed his protests forcing him to sit next to Derek until their shoulders were touching. “Just stay put, please, both of you. I’ll explain in a moment.”

Stiles risked a glance at Derek, who seemed aggravated, either at their proximity or the veterinarian’s cryptic behavior, it was hard to say. Could be both. He was just about to open his mouth and say something, when he was seized by a peculiar sensation. It resembled the feeling of pain being sucked out from his body, but it was more than that. Not only he felt instantly better, ache-free and clear-headed but at the same moment something clicked inside his mind, like a puzzle piece being put in the correct place. Next to him Derek let out a shaky breath and Stiles knew he was experiencing exactly the same thing.

Deaton smirked at their wide-eyed expressions. “Exactly as I thought.”

“What’s going on, doc?” Scott asked, looking as flabbergasted as Stiles felt.

“The reason you’ve been feeling poorly for that whole time,” Deaton began, addressing Stiles and Derek, “is your bond trying to keep the two of you together.”

“Our... what?” Stiles gaped at the veterinarian.

“Your bond, your mating bond, created when mister Hale gave you the bite. It’s a part of werewolf magic. In this case its purpose is to prevent two people from mating just for mutual benefits and then drifting apart. To ensure you get a chance to form at least a basic type of relationship, the bond causes your bodies to rebel when you get too far from each other for an extended period of time, which often results in insomnia, irritability, nausea, lack of appetite and in particular, varying degrees of pain.”

“This is... oh my God.” Stiles realized that for the whole time he stayed pressed against Derek’s side. He straightened up, trying to ignore the fact that his traitorous face was probably red again. “You knew all of this would happen, didn’t you?” 

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, sure! Who’s a born werewolf, me or you? Isn’t it that kind of stuff that parents are supposed to tell their kids, like bees and birds talk, or something?”

Derek’s gaze hardened. “I only know about a handful of things that are a common knowledge in werewolf families. My mother never had that conversation with me, she probably wanted to do it when the time was right. Couldn’t have known that she’d be _burn alive_.” The last words were barely understandable, forced out through clenched teeth. 

Stiles swallowed audibly and averted his eyes. Stupid, stupid mouth.

The silence that fell after Derek’s words was at best awkward. The betas shuffled their feet, darting looks at each other. Nobody was surprised that Scott was the one to break it.

“But you know something, right?” he asked Deaton.

The veterinarian sighed. “I’m afraid not as much as I’d like, Scott. There’s very little written on the subject, and most of the knowledge was available only to the werewolves. To be honest, most of what I’ve said comes from my own deduction and analysis of the symptoms than from actual learning.”

“Just great,” Stiles bumped the back of his head lightly against the wall. “Nobody knows anything, as usual, and isn’t it just... Hey!” he turned towards Derek again. “But you knew how to bite me, you know, so it wasn’t the other bite.”

Derek shrugged, still looking annoyed. “It was pure instinct. Like, I thought about what I want to do, and suddenly I knew how to do it. It wasn’t exactly a conscious action.”

“So how about you use your precious wolf instinct now and-”

“Guys,” Erica snapped. “Can’t you stop even for a moment?”

“Fine!” Stiles threw his arms in the air, almost elbowing Derek in the face in the process. “Is there any way to get out from this farce?”

Deaton raised his eyebrows. “You want to break the mating bond?”

“Well, yeah! Clearly nobody is happy with the development.”

Derek nodded at this, though Stiles felt him stiffing against his side. Maybe his werewolf pride was damaged with the fact that somebody didn’t want to be his mate. Well, bummer. 

Deaton stroked his chin, pondering. “At this moment I’m not sure if this is even possible, but I certainly can search for the answer. But it may take some time. I need to contact a few people and they are not easy to reach.”

“How do we cope until then?” Stiles asked.

“You make sure to spend some time with each other everyday, to satisfy your bond. It may require some sort of physical contact as well. I guess an hour or two is sufficient to keep both of you from becoming sick again.”

“Two hours everyday, in the sourwolf’s company, probably with _physical contact_.” Stiles groaned, running his fingers through his hair and messing them up even more. “Scotty, kill me now.”

Scott laughed out loud, and somebody snickered. Derek on the other hand didn’t look amused. “Like you are such a pleasant person to keep around.”

“I am the best, Derek Hale, not my fault you’re too dull to appreciate it.”

“At least you seem like yourself again,” Scott smiled, speaking before Derek could answer, turning their conversation into another bickering match. “How do you feel?”

“Really good, actually, and don’t even let me start on how strange it is, considering the circumstances. Also, I’m _so_ hungry. Can’t believe I’ve only had an apple, for the whole day!”

“I managed a sandwich, but that’s it,” Derek admitted, looking sheepish.

“Great!” Lydia clapped her hands together. “Let’s all go to a diner. We’ll eat, spend some quality pack time together, and you guys can _bond_.” She said the last word with a sneer.

Stiles gave her a pleading look. “ _Et tu_ , Lydia?”

Her smile grew wider. “You love me anyway.”

“I do, and it’ll be the end of me,” Stiles sighed but got up, followed by Derek. The pack bid their goodbyes to Deaton and they left, already arguing which diner to pick, and whether Italian is better than Chinese. Deaton watched them leave, noticing the pained expression with which Derek handed out the camaro’s keys to Erica, so he could ride with Stiles in the jeep, and shook his head fondly.

“Wish you could be here, Talia,” he spoke up into the empty room. “We’d have such a good laugh together.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long with posting the new chapter! I seem to hit some kind of a writer's block with this story... But I'm not planning on giving up on it, that's for sure. New chapters will come up, even if rather irregularly.

After a quite embarrassing evening at the diner, Stiles and Derek decided they would hold their ‘bonding time’ at Derek’s loft. As much as they appreciated the pack’s company, they could do without constant teasing and ambiguous jokes. Derek’s apartment was also a better choice than Stiles’ house - Sheriff would have certainly looked sideways at the ex-convict visiting his son every day, not to mention being suspiciously tactile. 

Not that the alpha was especially handsy around Stiles, or anything. They had been seated next to each other in the booth at the diner, their legs and sides touching, which was partly to ensure the required proximity and partly because of how tightly the pack had to squeeze to be able to sit together at one table, but that was it. When Stiles dropped by the next afternoon right after school, Derek just told him to sit down on the couch and do homework, while he read a book sitting next to him. Stiles did, together with Isaac, both of them alternating between having some real work done and just goofing around, much to Derek’s exasperation when he couldn’t focus because of all the ruckus they made, throwing pencils at each other or plotting Harris’ sad and painful death. 

It wasn’t a bad solution; Stiles and Derek spent enough time around each other to satisfy the bond and avoid any kind of supernatural-induced sickness, though something inside Stiles still felt off. It was as if the bond, while temporally placated, wasn’t fooled by their half-assed attempts at closeness. Stiles knew he shouldn’t think about the bond as something alive and capable of independent thinking process, but having one was such a foreign concept to him that it still didn’t feel like a part of him. 

Back to the non-issue of touching, it wasn’t like he was eager for werewolf snuggles, come on. On the other hand, he didn’t feel okay with the awkward mood between them, ever present since that moment when Stiles had woke up next to Derek in his bed, which had only intensified when he learned about the bite and its consequences. But it seemed that they were going to be stuck in this situation for some time and the least they could do was to make it sufferable for both of them. Of course, Stiles was perfectly aware that it was no use to wait for Derek to actually acknowledge anything. He knew the werewolf would do no more than the absolute minimum required to handle the situation, acting all the time as if it was some kind of punishment for all the sins he had committed in the past. Granted, they had never been that much fond of each other’s company, but they had moved from more or less civilized hostility to some kind of mutually respected non-aggression pact. So, in all honesty, Stiles hoped that Derek wasn’t actually that much opposed to his company. But even so, it was Stiles that had to do something to lighten up the somewhat tense mood between them. 

He approached the matter simply; it was his favorite way of dealing with problematic stuff in his life. There’s a monster chasing you? Run for your life. Jackson the kanima is running around the town attacking people? Kill him. The grumpy alpha you’ve got magically bonded to is behaving even grumpier than usual during your forced time together? Try to make it more bearable for both of you. This is why Stiles went home straight after school on Thursday, did what homework was absolutely necessary to be done and went to the loft in the late afternoon, backpack full of his favorite movies. 

When he laid out the dvd cases all over Derek’s coffee table, the alpha shoot him a confused look. 

“This isn’t your homework.” 

“Nope,” Stiles agreed. “Pick something you like.” 

Derek still looked doubtful. “You want to watch a movie with me?” He asked, his tone conveying his incredulity. 

Stiles sighed, exasperated. “Look. Shit happened, we’re in this situation we both feel uncomfortable about. Hopefully Deaton will find a solution soon. But until then, how about you curb your martyr act for a while and go along when I’m trying to make it a tiny bit less awkward?” 

Derek’s face was blank, his gaze locked on Stiles, unblinking. Stiles shifted under the intensity of it, feeling self-conscious. Just as he was ready to wave a hand in front of the werewolf’s eyes, or maybe poke his ribs, Derek said, “Okay.” 

Stiles blinked. “Okay what?” The pause in their conversation made him unable to follow Derek’s train of thought. 

“Okay to what you’ve said,” Derek replied and sorted through the cases. He frowned at some titles, dumping them straight back to the backpack. Other he set aside with a thoughtful look on his face. Finally, he thrust one of the movies in Stiles’ lap. “This one.” 

Stiles nodded appreciatively at his choice. “Good pick.” He moved to collect the ones that Derek put away before, but the alpha stopped him with an outstretched arm. 

“Leave them.” At Stiles’ questioning look, he added. “For later.” 

Stiles nodded once again and got up to turn on the dvd player and start the movie. 

If an hour later he dozed off, his head propped against Derek’s shoulder, neither of them mentioned it afterwards. 

***

Stiles loved when his father was home in the mornings, in no hurry to leave for work. He enjoyed Sheriff’s company, sure, but the main reason was much more mundane: breakfast. One that was actually waiting for him when he got to the kitchen, instead of the one he had to prepare for himself. One he didn’t have to eat alone. Stiles was used to cooking much the same as he was used to eating his meals in front of the computer or the tv, what with being raised by a single, hard-working father, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

The delicious smell was what woke him up on Saturday, making him get up and dress in a record time. He went downstairs, smiling widely as he passed the kitchen’s doorway.

“I love you, dad,” he announced.

Sheriff turned away from the stove and smiled at Stiles. “Well, good morning to you too. I appreciate the affection but why I have the feeling it’s only because of bacon?”

“Because it’s true,” Stiles grinned, taking a seat at the table. Sheriff shook his head fondly and redirected his attention to the pan. “Two stripes, as usual?”

“Mmm, make it five.”

His father raised his eyebrows at that. “You know there are going to be eggs with that, right?”

Stiles shook his head and got up to search the fridge for some juice. “Don’t want eggs. Bacon only.”  
His father shrugged and continued to make breakfast as Stiles poured himself a tall glass of the juice and sat at the table, sipping it contently. Soon enough Sheriff was done with the preparations and both of them got busy with their plates. 

Sheriff watched warily as his son devoured a strip almost without chewing, moaning quietly at the taste.

“You’ve seemed to grow quite fond of meat lately?”

“Have I?”

Sheriff nodded, making a point of swallowing the bit of fried egg he had in his mouth before replying. “Yep. Not that you ever displayed any vegetarian tendencies, but with all your fixation over my healthy eating you’ve always made sure that there are greens in our meals and sort of, khem, tried to set an example, don’t think I haven’t noticed. But recently you’re all chicken and bacon, and you didn’t protest when I proposed a BBQ two days ago, which is not exactly like you.”

Stiles waved his hand dismissively. “That’s because I’m a growing boy, I need my proteins. Building all these muscles, you know.” He patted his biceps as to indicate what he was talking about.

His father snorted and ignored Stiles’ indignant ‘hey!’. While his son was far from a weakling, he was even further from a muscular person. Not that Sheriff minded; he liked his kid as he was.

“That reminds me,” Stiles said cleaning his plate of the last remains of delicious bacon. “There’s no veggies in your breakfast.” He pointed his fork at Sheriff accusingly.

“I wish you would lie off already,” Sheriff sighed long-sufferingly. 

“Never!” Stiles grinned at him, wide and unapologetic.

“Thought so,” his father sighed again, but he was smiling, so Stiles knew nothing of this was really bothering him. “Would it satisfy you if I promised I’m going to include a salad in my lunch?”

“Only if this lunch doesn’t come from that hamburger place near the station!”

“Dammit, I thought I’ll slip through this crack,” Sheriff laughed, winking at Stiles who moved to the sink and was rinsing his plate off.

Stiles smiled back. “Not a chance, I’ve learned from the best.”

They chatted for a while longer about ordinary things and after that Stiles retreated to his room. He flopped on his bed and stretched out, not feeling like doing anything in particular. For a while his mind wandered from topic to topic until it came back to the conversation from earlier in the morning. Stiles pondered for a while on the meat issue and came to the realization that his father was, in fact, right. 

He looked back to the meals he had had in the last few days. Dinners with his father, quick breakfasts, lunches in the school cafeteria. Even if they didn’t consist only of meat, it always played a significant part. Whenever he had felt like making a sandwich, he usually went with ham or some other sort of cold meat. Late evening snack? Beef jerky. When was the last time he even thought about eating cheese or eggs? Chips? Chocolate?

“Shit!” he cursed, bolting out of the bed. He grabbed the car keys from his desk and ran down the stairs.

***

“I’m perfectly sure that you’re not turning into a werewolf. I’ve told you this the last time and I haven’t changed my mind since.”

“So how do you explain this?” Stiles asked. He felt panic creeping around the edges, ready to burst in and overcome him in a few seconds. He waved his arms around and paced the length of the exam room nervously. “What if tomorrow morning I wake up craving a freshly killed rabbit?”

“Please sit down, Mr Stilinski, you’re scaring my patient,” Deaton admonished, leaning over the cat huddled up on the metal table. He plugged the ends of the stethoscope in his ears and started listening to the cat’s heartbeat. Stiles planked down on the bench with too much force, causing the piece of furniture to rattle loudly. He was too worked up to sit still. His legs bounced nervously up and down, fingers drumming against the wooden surface of the bench. The same bench he sat on with Derek, almost a week ago, he realized with a start. Suddenly he felt the need to have the werewolf close by, which was ridiculous. Stiles shook his head violently, trying to clear it from stupid thoughts.

Deaton hooked the stethoscope over his neck and smiled down at the cat.

“It seems everything’s alright now. I’ll call your owner and tomorrow you should be home again.” He scratched the cat behind his ear and the animal relaxed slightly.

The urge to make a caustic remark about the cat not being actually able to understand the words was almost uncontrollable and Stiles felt really proud of himself when he managed to squash it down and remain silent.

Deaton took the cat back to its cage and returned to Stiles.

“It may be a side effect of the bond, yes,” the doctor said, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not an expert on these things and even if I was, it’d still be difficult; werewolf bonds vary in intensity and scope from couple to couple.” Stiles wanted to protest - Derek and him were definitely not a ‘couple’. Deaton held a finger up to indicate that he was not done speaking. “Still, it’s nothing to stress about. It’ll cease eventually, probably in the next few days.”

“If you’re not an expert and you admit that you don’t know a lot about this, how can you be so sure it isn’t doing anything... permanent to me? It wouldn’t be the first thing Derek failed to do right, maybe he mixed the bites or something!” As soon as the words left his mouth, Stiles felt a pang of guilt. Yes, Derek wasn’t a perfect alpha, or a perfect werewolf for that matter, despite having a lifetime long experience in being one. But Stiles had almost equally long experience in being human, and did it mean he always did everything right? No. With all his faults and misguidance Derek was still a good person and speaking this way about him wasn’t okay, even if Derek wasn’t there to hear it.

Deaton shrugged. “I just am. Now, if you don’t have any immediate issues to sort out, Mr Stilinski, I have another patient in a quarter and I’d like to prepare.”

Stiles huffed in annoyance. He was still agitated and feeling unheeded certainly didn’t improve his mood. But it was clear that the veterinarian wouldn’t tell him anything more substantial and pestering him wouldn’t make any difference. He left the clinic in long strides, not caring about saying goodbye.

***

He probably shouldn’t have headed straight to Derek’s apartment after that; driving home and taking time to calm down probably would have been a better option. As it was, Derek picked up on his low spirits the minute Stiles entered the loft.

“What’s wrong?” he asked from his place on the couch where he was engrossed in yet another old looking book. Where did Derek even keep all these volumes? As far as Stiles could say there wasn’t any bookcase in the loft. Still, he had never been on the upper level. Isaac had a mattress here in the main living space, but somehow Stiles couldn’t envision Derek curling up on the couch to sleep. His bedroom had to be located upstairs. He most likely kept all his things there.

“Nothing.” Stiles kicked off his shoes and went to sit down next to Derek.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Uhm, okay.” He went back to his reading but Stiles was practically radiating a foul aura. The bond made the werewolf extra sensitive to these things, which didn’t help at all. After a minute, he put down the book with a put upon sigh.

“Come on,” he prompted. “You’re not exactly a pleasant company in this state.”

“Why do you even care? I’m just going to stay here half an hour and then I’m gone, I promise. Surely you can manage such a short time in my burdensome presence?”

“ _Stiles_.”

“What?”

“Stop acting childish.”

“I’m not a ch-” Stiles broke off mid-word, realizing that arguing like that actually made him look immature. “Fine! Your stupid werewolf abracadabra is turning me into a carnivore.”

Derek gave him a look implying he was afraid that the boy lost his mind. “What?”

In as few words as possible, Stiles told him about his recently changed eating habits. To his incredulity, Derek’s reaction was to burst into laughter.

“Care to tell me what’s so funny?”

“You. I mean,” Derek amended quickly, when Stiles’ gaze darkened, “I don’t even know how you could have made such ridiculous assumption. I’m a _were_ wolf, Stiles, not an actual wolf. The ‘were’ part indicates human side and I assure you, my human side is still the dominant one in this combo.”

Stiles regarded him with dubious expression and Derek concluded that this time elaboration is inevitable. 

“Alright, true. I rely on my instincts a lot and I’m used to listening to my inner wolf. Sometimes those instincts get ahead of me and I’m not exactly proud of those times. But it doesn’t mean I go deer hunting every morning. I eat like most people. Have Scott ever mentioned going carnivorous, as you put it? Jackson? Erica? Anyone?”

Slowly, Stiles shook his head.

“Then why on earth did you think so? I swear, Stiles, for a human who’s a part of a werewolf pack, sometimes you come up with the craziest theories.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve ever given me the werewolf 101, have you?” Stiles mumbled defiantly, eyes averting Derek’s face and boring a hole into the coffee table. Suddenly he felt very, very silly.

Derek had the grace to look sheepish. 

“And,” Stiles continued, feeling his usual attitude being slowly restored, “that still doesn’t explain this weird craving! Deaton said it’s the side effect of the bond, but in the light of what you’ve just said it hardly makes any sense.”

“You went to Deaton with it?”

“Can you blame me? I freaked out a little.”

Derek looked like he wanted to facepalm. “Let’s have a deal. From now on, any werewolf related inquiry or doubt you may have, you come to me, okay? And _then_ , if we still don’t know what to do, we go to Deaton. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded.

“And I don’t know what’s up with your appetite, Stiles, probably nothing out of ordinary. Some people can eat one type of food for weeks and don’t get tired of it. Research human eating habits if it still bugs you, but really, don’t blame everything in your life on the bond.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

They fell silent after that. Derek apparently told everything he had to tell on the topic and busied himself with his reading again. Stiles sat hunched over, playing nervously with strings of his hoodie. After a few days of relative understanding between the two of them, once more it felt awkward to just sit next to each other without talking or engaging in any activity together.

“Uhm...” Stiles mumbled after another minute or two, when the silence became oppressive. “So I think that’s enough of bonding for us, I should get going.”

Derek didn’t say anything when Stiles got up and started putting on his shoes, though the teenager could almost feel that his eyes were fixed on Stiles’ back.

He was in the middle of lacing the second shoe when the door to the loft opened and Isaac walked in.

“Oh, hi Stiles! Leaving already?”

“Yeah. I just popped by to, you know.” Stiles waved his hand in a complicated motion, meaning to encompass ‘mates’ and ‘bonding’ without speaking any of these words aloud.

“Aw, sucks.” Isaac seemed genuinely upset by that. “Because, I’ve been thinking,” he turned to Derek, “that we could order pizza tonight, we haven’t had any in quite a long time.” Which in Isaac’s language meant ‘this week’ but nobody commented on that. When Derek inclined his head in approval, he addressed Stiles again. “So yeah, we could order a bit more and you could hang out with us?”

Stiles smiled. “What, you’re still not tired of my presence, even though I’m here every day?”

“Nah. At least when I ask you something, I get answers that are actual sentences.”

Derek glared at him, which made both Stiles and Isaac laugh.

“Okay. If Derek doesn’t mind?” Stiles looked at the werewolf, who shrugged. By that time Stiles knew his little non-verbal cues enough to know that it was a sign of agreement. He bent down to undo his shoes and walked back to the side of the couch which was practically his designated seat at that point.

Isaac rummaged in the drawers in the small kitchenette and came back with a flyer from the pack’s favorite pizza place.

“What are we ordering? I’m in the mood for Hawaiian.” 

“Works for me. Get bacon and pepperoni too, I’m sure Stiles will appreciate it,” Derek said, smirking at the boy.

Stiles had no qualms about hitting him with the cushion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://hexthejinx.tumblr.com).
> 
> I've signed up as an author for Sterek Campaign's Wolf Pack Charity project! If you'd like to help some wolves and get a fic (from me or any other author who signed up) check out their [Tumblr](http://sterekcampaign.tumblr.com/), all information is there.


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